


Overcompensating

by theOther_Will_Grayson



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Background Analogical, Gen, Human AU, Paternal Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 17:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17871308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theOther_Will_Grayson/pseuds/theOther_Will_Grayson
Summary: So, it's Thanksgiving, and Virgil is spending it with his boyfriend's family for the first time. In the quiet of post-party cleaning and after dinner coffee, Virgil gains a home and a family. Human!AU. Paternal Moxiety. Background est Analogical, background est Logicality.





	Overcompensating

The smells of turkey and pie had faded, and November’s early night had descended, frosty but snowless. The house, once singing with wine-flushed laughter and childish delight now only held four exhausted, lazy bodies. A Christmas movie played unwatched on the TV in the living room where Logan sat reading a book, Roman lying asleep next to him and quite possibly drooling on his lap. Occasionally, Logan would catch Virgil watching him from his perch on the kitchen counter. They’d exchange a smirk and then go back to their respective activities — Logan to his reading and Virgil to watching Patton clean up. 

“Here ya go, kiddo.” Patton handed Virgil a steaming mug of black coffee, too hot to drink for now. “Watch your head.” Virgil scooted over to allow Patton access to the cabinet the was blocking. “Thanks, you’re a peach!”

“Let me help you.” Virgil made to set the mug down and hop down from his perch, feeling guilty and awkward as a guest in this man’s house, perhaps one that was overstaying his welcome despite also claiming the guest room. 

Patton chuckled — not malicious, but joyful. “You are helping, ya little moonbeam. You’re keeping me company.” He started in on tossing clean silverware in the drawer. “Drink your coffee.”

Folding his legs back under him and settling in, Virgil obeyed, blowing on it for a little bit before taking a cautious sip.  _ Jesus. _ An involuntary shudder ran through his body. “You people really don’t mess around with your joe, do you?  _ Shit. _ ” He clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

Patton laughed and took the cup from Virgil’s hand. “Oh goodness, you pure, beautiful lamb. Here, let’s do this.” He turned the sink on and waited for the water to warm up.“Sorry, kiddo. I live with two hyper-intelligent workaholics. I had to get used to strong coffee, too.”

Virgil chose not to say anything, but Patton corrected himself anyways, frowning and staring at nothing for a moment. “One. I live with one hyper-intelligent workaholic now.” Their eyes didn’t meet as Patton handed back the coffee, now cooler and watered down a little. There were the gentle beginnings of tears in Patton’s eyes as his gaze fixed on the living room. “You’re lucky, seeing him every day.”

Virgil’s grip on the mug tightened. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? “I know.”

Patton sighed, pushing up his glasses to wipe at his eyes. “Gosh, this is ridiculous. It’s only been two months.”

“Exactly.” Virgil shrugged, sipping his coffee. Much better. “It’s only been two months. Give it time, it’ll get easier.”

That earned him a smile as Patton straightened himself out and went back to his task. A companionable silence fell over the kitchen, the only sound the clatter of dishes and the faint sound of jingle bells lilting from the living room.

The coffee was warm, smelled sharp, wafting in tufts of steam from Virgil’s hands to his nose. It was the same warmth and spice that had massaged his senses the moment he walked into the house. Patton’s radiant smile occasionally thrown his way, Roman’s gentle snores, and Logan’s gentle hand on his sleeping father’s shoulder, only moving to turn a page…

“Whatcha thinking about, kiddo?” Patton was wiping down the stove mechanically, watching him.

“Hm?”

“You’re smiling for the first time since Logan’s Aunt Debbie arrived.”

So he was. Aunt Debbie was a fine woman, but her arrival marked the beginning of the steadily crushing stream of people invading the safe space of the Sanders home, talking and getting drunk and stifling him. He dealt with it, of course. He always had. And Thanksgiving at Logan’s childhood home was certainly better than at his own. But he had yet to figure out if it was worse when Logan’s extended family endlessly pelted him with questions or when they let him melt into the wall and pretended he was nothing more than a decoration to fill the blank wall space in the corner.

“Did you ever think that you’d end up with an astronomy professor for a son?” Virgil asked.

“Not at all,” Patton replied, scooping leftover mashed potatoes. “I used to think I’d end up with an astronaut. Then an entomologist — that’s the one that studies bugs, right? Then a physicist, then a doctor, then an archaeologist, then an environmentalist.” Patton was lost in the memory now, and Virgil was just along for the ride. “I always knew Logan would be a teacher, though.”

“Really? How?”

Patton smiled into his work. “Well, I taught him how to read when Roman was working. We couldn’t afford a nanny or daycare, so it was just me and little Logan all day. But Roman still wanted to participate and be a part of Logan’s life, so he would always ask him, ‘Hey Logan, what’s this word?’ or ‘What does that sign say?’ Eventually, Logan got it in his head that Roman had no idea how to read.”

Virgil nearly snorted coffee out his nose. “Seriously?”

“I have a photo, too.” Chuckling, Patton slapped a lid on the last tupperware filled with leftover sweet potato casserole. “Logan sat him down and said, ‘Papa, it is time you learned something very important.’”

Virgil could just picture a tiny Logan looking sternly at his Papa through his too-large glasses, his hands on his hips, his voice stern, a Dr. Seuss book in his grip. The image made him smile.

Patton sipped his own mug of coffee, shaking his head and leaning against the counter opposite Virgil. “He’s such a precious little nerd. It took all Roman had not to laugh.”

“So you do that to Logan too, huh?”

Patton blinked, eyes owlish behind his thick glasses. “What do you mean?”

Blush heated Virgil’s face in a sharp blast, shattering the easy conversation they had created over the past half an hour or so. “I don’t know. That thing you do. You know, with all the names.”

Patton looked a little embarrassed. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. People are always telling me I get a bit weird when I do that.”

_ Oh, Jesus. _ “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, call you out.”

“Oh, not at all. You wouldn’t be the first anyways.” Patton looked as if there was something else he wanted to say, but his teeth worried his lip instead. 

At a loss, Virgil caught Logan’s eye again. He was leaning as if ready to hop up from the couch at the first sign of panic or discomfort on Virgil’s face.  _ What’s wrong? _ His eyes asked. Virgil opened his mouth, but shook his head. What the fuck was he supposed to do right now?

“Virgil…” Patton’s voice drew him back to the kitchen, Logan’s gaze still burning into his temple. “To be perfectly honest, Logan told me a little bit about your...situation. Not everything!” he quickly reassured, noticing Virgil’s panic. “But just a little about your dad, and what happened to your mom —”

“Nothing happened to my mother,” Virgil bit out. “My mother was something that happened to me, and now she’s gone.”

As soon as the words were out, Virgil wished he hadn’t let his bitterness surface. Patton wrung a dish towel in his hands, obviously uncomfortable with Virgil and everything he had ruined in the night so far.

“What I'm trying to say, Virgil, is that we just wanted to include you.” 

_ What? _ Patton’s hand was on his knee and Virgil wasn’t pushing it away. He felt unsure, he felt confused, he felt — 

“When Logan asked to bring you home, I was beyond ecstatic to mean the man who makes my little go-getter poindexter so darn happy. I said yes, obviously, but when Logan told me about your home life, it broke my heart. It really did. So I panicked, I started thinking of ways to show you what real family is like. That’s why I asked everybody to make an effort to talk to you. It’s why I got Logan to have you sleep over. It’s why I decided to get in the habit of calling you the same weird pet names I call everyone that I care about. I may have overcompensated a little, but I just wanted you to feel like you’re part of this family, because you  _ are _ .” 

Virgil met Patton’s warm brown eyes, at a loss for words. “Thank you,” he managed. “Thank you.” And then he had to set his coffee down, had to jump down from the counter, had to throw his arms around Patton and bury his face in his neck, breathe in his scent. He smelled like cologne, like wine, like pumpkin, like all the things a real father should smell like. 

“Thank  _ you _ , kiddo.”

Virgil felt a hand on his shoulder and peeked out to see Logan, smiling at him in approval and relief. In all the overflowing emotion, Virgil hadn’t even considered Logan, seeing his boyfriend and his father hugging in the kitchen on one of the most family-oriented days of the year. 

“Ugh, what time is it?” Roman’s voice pierced the moment, low and rough. He shuffled past the now broken hug and picked up the mug from the counter, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He took a sip, and promptly made a gagging motion which was obviously dramatized, because it’s  _ Roman _ . “Gah, whose  _ water _ is this?”

“Uh, mine.” Virgil raised his hand, vaguely cautious of the consequences.

Roman’s groggy gaze fixated on Virgil. He didn’t break eye contact as he dumped the coffee straight into the sink, grabbed the pot, poured himself another cup, and sipped it. He ruffled Virgil’s hair as he headed back towards the living room. “Welcome to the family, Sir Broods-a-lot.”

Virgil looked around at his new family, full of smiles and hugs and nicknames and little thumb strokes and  _ love _ .  _ Okay, so that’s what Thanksgiving is supposed to feel like _ .

 


End file.
